


The Right Choice

by PerishTwice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Death, F/M, Fights, Post-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerishTwice/pseuds/PerishTwice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ADWD. Jaime and Brienne face the Brotherhood Without Banners and other challenges, not least their feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  They walked in silence. At first, Jaime had attempted conversation, but Brienne’s terse replies made it impossible. Something was wrong with her. Jaime didn't know what, and he wasn’t likely to find out. Brienne was guarded; if she didn't want him to know something, no amount of questioning would get it out of her. And whatever this was, she definitely intended on keeping it from him. She had hardly looked at him since they left Pennytree.

  He had no idea where they were headed, or how long it would take. Brienne had been more responsive about the Hound’s location than anything else, but only just.

  ‘We’re less than a day’s march away,’ she had said.

  ‘Why does he want me to come?’

  ‘How should I know? He just said I’d best fetch you, and only you, if I wanted the girl to remain unharmed.’

  ‘How did he manage to get her out of King’s Landing?’

  ‘I don’t _know_.’

  Jaime had really been thinking aloud rather than questioning Brienne, but the anger in her tone convinced him that any further queries were best kept inside his head. However, the time spent in silence had not proved fruitful; the Hound had left King’s Landing long before Joffrey’s wedding, so Jaime could not imagine how he could have been in place to rescue Sansa, unless she had escaped herself and merely run into Clegane at a later date. This, of course, raised the rather worrying issue of how a girl of three-and-ten could manage to escape the capital and elude the guards without help.

  Jaime stared at Brienne’s back, trying to think of a reason for her behaviour. Here, too, he drew a blank. Was the secret related to the Hound, or something else entirely? Surely she would have told him if it concerned the Stark girl. He began to worry that she was in danger, and though he tried to convince himself that she wouldn't keep that from him, the conviction grew with every step he took, until he couldn't bear the silence any longer.

  ‘How did you find them?’

  ‘By searching.’

  He winced at her tone. ‘Well that’s enlightening,’ he muttered.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to say. Would you like a detailed account of my every day since you last saw me? What I ate, who I spoke to? Is it really so important?’ The outburst cut off suddenly, and Brienne's walls were instantly thrown back up, as though she were afraid of what else might escape them. Jaime was certain now that she was in trouble, and he was determined to find out why, no matter how hard she might try to stop him. He had to.

  ‘Brienne, what happened?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied quickly. Too quickly.

  ‘Is it the Hound? Did he make some demand of you?’

  ‘Nothing has happened.’

  ‘You can’t expect me to believe that, Brienne.’

  ‘So don’t. It won’t make any difference.’

  He reached out and seized her arm, spinning her around to face him. She jerked back at his touch. She looked terrified, but whether of him or some other danger he could not tell.

  He leaned closer. ‘Brienne, please. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes were darting around the forest, focusing on anything except him. ‘There’s nothing to help _with_.’

  He released her arm and stepped backwards, holding up his hand in surrender. Of course, he wasn’t going to give up, but it was clear that this path wasn't going to return any results.

  The crack of a branch underfoot rang out and Jaime was spinning to face the sound, his hand reaching for his sword – but it was his left hand, it was too slow. His arms were forced to his sides by several pairs of hands, he couldn't say how many. _An ambush_ , he realised, twisting his body to try and find Brienne. He glimpsed her standing by one of the ambushers, but she wasn’t restrained, and neither was she fighting. The confusion was gone before it had time to fully set in. Her eyes, shifting around the forest – she hadn’t been avoiding his gaze, she’d been looking for them.

  Something cracked across the back of Jaime’s head and the pain carried him towards unconsciousness. His failing senses just managed to pick out an unknown voice.

  ‘Not bad, wench.’

* * *

  Brienne stood in the mouth of the cave, staring out at Jaime. Guilt washed over her. She'd been fighting it since they cut her down, and it was only growing stronger. _Pod,_ she thought. _You saved Pod_. Lem had informed her that Pod and Hyle Hunt had been freed as soon as they'd brought Jaime into the camp. Ser Hyle would look after him, she thought. He would be safer than he had ever been with her. But the longer she watched Jaime, the less comforting that thought became.

 They had tied him to a tree a few feet away. She knew there were a couple of guards somewhere nearby, but the Brotherhood weren't exactly concerned about their prize escaping – he was tied up, one-handed, and had nowhere to go. Their scouts were everywhere in these woods; the Brotherhood had remained undiscovered for a reason.

  Jaime lifted his head, and she ducked back into the shadows.

  'Wench,' he called. The word cracked through the air, and Brienne flinched. She held still for a few heartbeats. Maybe he hadn't actually see her, maybe if she stayed hidden he'd think he'd imagined her, maybe...

  She stepped out of the cave and walked towards him.

  'Kingslayer.' The word felt foreign on her tongue, nothing like the ones she wanted to say. _I'm sorry_. She felt sick. _Forgive me_. He was staring up at her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. _Jaime_.

  'My captors neglected to introduce themselves,' he said. From his tone he could be commenting on the ill manners of some lords at court.

  'They're what's left of the Brotherhood Without Banners,' she said, struggling to keep her voice even, emotionless. Every instinct she had screamed at her to beg for his forgiveness, to throw herself at his feet and plead for understanding.

  'In that case, why am I still alive?'

  'Your trial will take place at nightfall. They are waiting for everyone to return.'

  'Of course. They have captured the Kingslayer after all. It would be a shame for anyone to miss that.' He paused, adjusting his position against the tree. Brienne remembered the feel of bark at her back, the fear. _Sapphires!_ She looked up at the sky, not wanting him to see her face, to guess her thoughts.

  'But do they really intend to give me a trial? It would be far quicker to skip to the sentence.' He laughed. The sound made her blood run cold. How could he be so cavalier? Was it pure bravado, or did he really feel that way? Could he? 'Mind you,' he continued absently, 'Dondarrion always had a strange sense of justice.'

  Should she tell him? He would find out soon enough, but she could warn him, give him a chance to prepare for the horror. Would he even believe her?

  'Beric Dondarrion is dead.'

  'Really? Then is it this Lady Stoneheart I've heard of whose mercy I must prevail upon?'

  'I do not think you have much chance there.'

  'And here I thought she would be overwhelmed by my charm and beauty.'

  'No, I mean...' He wouldn't believe her. No one sane would. 'Lady Stoneheart, she's... she's Catelyn Stark. She's risen from the dead somehow, I saw her...' She let her voice fade away as she realised how ridiculous she sounded.

  'Catelyn Stark?' It didn't matter that he didn't believe her. He'd see the truth soon enough. 'Well, I suppose that makes sense.'

  'What?'

  'You were sworn to her, after all.'

  His words twisted in her gut. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't betrayed him, that it wasn't her choice... but it was. Her feeble excuses could barely even try to mask the simple truth: she was a coward.

  'It wasn't –' She was seized by a desire to explain, to make him understand. 'They were hanging me, they gave me a choice –'

  'My life for yours?'

  It sounded even more despicable put that way. 'Yes,’ she whispered, hanging her head. _And Pod's_ , said a small voice at the back of her head, but that seemed beyond inconsequential now.

  'Brienne.' His voice had softened, and she looked up, slowly. He waited until she met his gaze. 'You made the right choice.'

  'No. No, Jaime, I –'

  'Well, hello there.' It was Lem, the Hound's helmet tucked under his arm. 'Shouldn't you be resting, wench? Your part's done now.' He leered at her, and her skin crawled. She retreated into the cave, feeling the gaze of both men follow her. Silently she cursed Lem. Couldn't he have waited just one more minute, given her time to say – what? That she had been wrong, that she shouldn't have betrayed him? That she had made a mistake – small excuse when it would cost him his life. But then, he hadn’t seemed to care about that, though he couldn't have been serious. Could he? Could he really place a higher value on her life than his own?


	2. Chapter 2

  The flames cast grotesque shadows on the walls of the cave. The hellish vision made for an appropriate last sight, Jaime thought. He knew that most of the Brotherhood were assembled here, but he had no chance of counting the men concealed by the shadows. He wondered if Brienne was there.

  Two figures stepped into the light to face Jaime. One was a man – a nameless member of the Brotherhood. The other was hooded and cloaked, its face in shadow. Lady Stoneheart, presumably. Catelyn Stark, if Brienne was to be believed.

  The figure slowly pulled back the hood, revealing the face of a devil. Just recognisably the face of Catelyn Stark, but this was no dead woman brought back to life. She had been granted the power of movement, it was true, but no one could describe this creature as living. Her eyes bored into Jaime, a gaze of hatred and death. His or hers, it was hard to say. Perhaps both.

  The shade of Lady Stark raised her hands to her throat, throttling herself as if she desired a second death. An infernal whispering sound leaked out from her. The man by her side leaned closer to her, concentrating. When she was done, he straightened up and proclaimed:

  'Jaime Lannister, the Lady Catelyn Stark hereby names you Oathbreaker. You swore sacred vows to her to return her two daughters, Sansa and Arya Stark. You have not done so. For this, and for your other crimes, which are too numerous to list, she sentences you to death.'

  Muted jeers and mutterings broke out amongst the hidden crowd, but none dared call out in Lady Stoneheart's presence.

  'I'd like to point out that Lady Stark here was dead by the time I reached King's Landing,’ said Jaime. He bowed his head towards her. ‘Had I known of her present state I would of course have endeavoured to return her daughters.’ He cursed himself the instant he fell silent. What was he thinking? That kind of arrogance he could only afford back when he had two hands.

  A shriek erupted from Stoneheart: a sound that chilled the blood of all those there, an inhuman cry of pure rage. It echoed around the cave walls, and no one moved until it at last faded into silence. Then Lady Stoneheart clasped her throat once more and hissed.

  'Seize him,' came the command from her mouthpiece.

  Jaime heard men moving towards him from all sides. He had only a few seconds to save his life.

  'Wait,' he called. _Oh yes, very clever, Jaime. That's very compelling._ Somehow, though, it gained him a few more seconds of frantic thought as they paused in confusion. There had to be a way out of this. Tyrion would have found it.

  'This is supposed to be my trial, yes?' he shouted desperately. He took a deep breath, praying that this gamble would work. 'I demand a trial by combat.'

  Laughter erupted all around him; not even Lady Stoneheart's stare could quell it. Jaime winced. He was just someone to laugh at now. Not one to inspire fear, or even admiration, just a poor ridiculous broken man.

  The mouthpiece was speaking again. 'Lady Catelyn says that if you wish to die by the sword it makes no difference to her.'

  'I do not wish to die at all. I believe I have the right to name a champion.'

  Catelyn Stark stared down at him, and her gaze no longer burned with hatred. It was ice cold now, a look of detestation. Then, she deliberately curled the corners of her ruined mouth into a smile and hissed once more.

  'The lady asks if any here will fight for the Kingslayer.'

  The laughter began again, rising and filling Jaime's ears. He sunk back under its weight.

  Then a voice cut through the derision, a familiar voice.

  'I will.' _No._ 'I will fight for him.'

* * *

  Brienne pushed her way through the Brotherhood, not allowing herself to look at any of them.

  'I will fight for Ser Jaime,' she repeated, moving to stand beside him.

  Behind her, she heard someone spit. 'Kingslayer's whore,' they muttered. Brienne winced, praying that he hadn't heard.

  'Brienne, don't,' he whispered to her.

  'You were wrong, Jaime,' she replied. 'I didn't make the right choice. But I am now.'

  'No.'

  Ignoring him, she turned to Lady Catelyn, who appeared to have frozen in shock. It didn’t last long. Her face twisted into something inhuman as she snarled and hissed. Her interpreter leaned towards her, but a flailing arm struck him and he staggered back. Brienne doubted there were any words to hear. These were animal cries, and all they could convey was rage.

  Brienne closed her eyes against the torrent, but she did not move. She would not, _could not_ , back down. She must right her wrong, though it could cost her her life.

  There was silence; Lady Stoneheart’s fury seemed to have exhausted itself. Slowly, Brienne opened her eyes and met the icy gaze of the dead woman. Her body trembled, but she forced herself to speak.

  ‘You respected his right to a champion. You asked if any here would defend him. I answered. You cannot refuse me.’

  The mutterings and spitting continued around her, but she ignored the men, holding her head high and keeping her eyes fixed on Lady Stoneheart’s, though her gaze froze Brienne’s blood. An age passed. At last, Lady Stoneheart motioned to her interpreter. He leaned in once more, and she raised her hands to her throat and hissed.

  ‘She says: let the Oathbreaker try.’

  One of the Brotherhood broke ranks and dropped to his knees before Lady Stoneheart.

  ‘Let me fight her, my lady,’ he said.

  She inclined her head, smiling cruelly, and the champion donned his helmet, to cheers from the rest of the Brotherhood. He turned to Brienne, and she was met with the snarling smile of the Hound. Lem.

  Jaime caught hold of her leg. ‘Brienne, you can’t,’ he whispered. His voice sounded almost as if it were breaking.

  Her hand moved to her sword. She did not look back.

  ‘Move, Jaime.’

  He tried to say something else, but a nameless brother grabbed him and pulled him back, into the darkness.

  Brienne drew her sword and paced towards Lem. He put up his weapon and they began to circle cautiously.

  ‘Does that helm make you feel brave, Lem?’ she asked. ‘You know all of its past bearers are dead? I killed the last one.’

  ‘Is that supposed to scare me, little girl?’

  ‘It’s merely a fact.’

  Lem laughed. ‘You think because you killed one man you’re a warrior?' He spat. 'You’re a woman.’

  ‘He’s not the only man I’ve killed.’

  Lem flew at her halfway through her sentence, probably trying to catch her off guard. It didn’t work. Her sword swung up to meet his, and the clash echoed through the cave. He was strong. Brienne pushed against him; their swords parted and Lem stumbled back. She grinned. She was strong too.

  Lem muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘bitch’ and flew towards her again, pouring all of his strength into a whirlwind attack. Perfect. This was just the kind of thing Brienne could counter, easily. Lem was one of those men who couldn’t stand the idea of being beaten by a woman, who would try and use force to end the fight as quickly as possible. Brienne kept her cool, parrying the blows calmly. Let him spend his strength. She could wait.

  Sure enough, Lem’s attacks soon began to weaken. He was breathing heavily, staggering his way through the fight. And then Brienne moved. Now it was her attacking, her forcing him back with blow after blow. It turned out defence was not Lem’s forte. Her blade made contact, and soon blood was soaking through his clothes. His movements were slowing, his arms shaking under the weight of his sword. She knocked it aside, and, before he could recover, drove Oathkeeper through his stomach. Air rushed out of him in a gasp; he sounded shocked. She pulled her sword back, and Lem’s body collapsed, his blood pooling on the cave floor.

  Lady Stoneheart was hissing, her rage echoing off the walls, multiplying, filling the space. It was all Brienne could hear. Suddenly, she was surrounded by the Brotherhood. They snatched away her sword and forced her to her knees. Jaime was brought forward and thrown down beside her. Lady Stoneheart towered over them. Her eyes shone with a mad rage, and her hands gripped her neck so tightly Brienne thought the bones would break. The hissing continued, washing over them without pause. Then her interpreter stepped forward.

  ‘Hang them,’ he said.

  Immediately, Brienne was dragged to her feet. ‘No,’ she cried, but they paid no attention. ‘No, you promised!’ Her hands were pulled in front of her, tied.

  ‘Jaime,’ she pleaded. ‘At least let Jaime go.’

  It was as if they could not hear her. Two men grabbed her and forced her out into the light. Behind her, she could hear them bringing Jaime. She struggled, trying to catch sight of him, but they held her tighter.

  ‘Stop it, whore,’ one of them said, and spat in her face. Brienne could see the tree now. _No_ , she thought. _No, not again, please_.

  Her guards stopped, turning to shout something to Jaime’s pair. Their laughter rang in her ears. She saw the sunlight glint off of something at her guard’s side. _Oathkeeper_. He had Oathkeeper.

  They brought Jaime up alongside her, facing the tree. He came easily. She wanted to scream at him. _What are you doing? Fight, damn you._ He met her eyes, locked into her gaze with an intensity she had never seen before. He was trying to tell her something. His eyes flicked down to his hands. _Hand_. They hadn’t bothered to tie him – after all, what could a cripple do? Brienne nodded, trying to keep the movement as small as possible.

  Jaime’s elbow snapped out, straight into the stomach of one of his captors. He groaned, and Brienne’s guards turned to him, distracted. She stamped on the foot of one, and, as his grip loosened, pulled her arms away and swung around, slamming both her hands into the other's stomach. He doubled over, but before she could press the attack the first man recovered. She kicked out at him, feeling the jolt as her foot connected. She was thrown back a pace or two, but he was on the floor. He had a dagger in his belt. Brienne threw herself to the ground, snatched the dagger and plunged it into his heart. She sensed the other guard behind her, spun and swiped the dagger across his leg. It buckled, and he came crashing down next to her. His hands reached for her throat, but she moved in closer, sheathing the dagger in his neck. Blood bubbled from his mouth as he collapsed backwards. In the space he’d left, Brienne could see Jaime struggling with one of his guards. She scrambled over the corpse and stabbed the man in the back.

  She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then retrieved the dagger, handing it to Jaime. ‘Here.’

  He took it, heading over to the fourth man, who he’d left unconscious. Brienne walked back to her two, cut her bonds on Oathkeeper’s edge, and removed it from the dead man’s belt.

  ‘We need to move,’ said Jaime. Brienne nodded. She scanned the clearing one last time, and they headed off under the trees.


	3. Chapter 3

  As she walked, Brienne felt the tiredness set in. Her limbs were heavy, and her mind felt like fog. She tried to remember the last time she'd slept, the last time she'd removed her armour. She couldn't. She tried to divert her thoughts; thinking about it couldn't help, and she had no time to rest now. She searched for something to distract her.

  ‘How long do you think we have?’ she asked Jaime. It wasn't exactly a pleasant subject, but if anything that made it a better distraction.

  ‘Until they realise we're gone? Well, the plan was to take us to that tree, string us up, wait for us to die, then go back. So the others shouldn't be expecting them for a while. Then leave time for them to start getting worried, send others out to see what's happened, run back and organise a hunting party.’

  Brienne relaxed. That gave them enough time to get away. Maybe.

  But Jaime wasn't finished. ‘Unless of course they heard the fight. Then they'll be coming after us right now.’

  _Perfect_.

  Brienne picked up her pace, walking in silence until another unpleasant thought occurred to her.

  ‘Jaime, where are we going?’

  ‘Right now, away.’

  ‘We need a destination or we’ll end up doubling back on ourselves and walking straight into them.’

  He didn't reply. Brienne sighed.

  ‘We should head back to your camp. If we're going to be attacked it would help to have allies.’

  Jaime shook his head immediately, but paused before speaking. ‘They'll most likely have left by now.’

  ‘We can't have been gone more than a day, maybe two.' Brienne pointed out, confused by his reaction. 'Didn't you order them to wait for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘So what's the problem? You don't think they'll obey you?’

  ‘It’s pointless trying to get to them now,’ he snapped. ‘We don't know how long it will take, and if they leave before we find them we’ll just put ourselves in danger for longer.’

  ‘Fine,’ Brienne said. His reasoning didn't make sense to her, but she could tell that it was just an excuse. For some reason, Jaime didn't want to return to his camp, and Brienne didn't think she had much chance of forcing him.

  Jaime fell into silence, but Brienne couldn't let the matter rest. Now their direction was just as worrying as her tiredness had been before, if not more so. This aimless wandering was just another kind of death sentence.

  ‘We should head for King’s Landing,’ she suggested.

  ‘No,’ came the instant response.

  ‘Why not?’ No reply. ‘Jaime, we won't survive on our own. We need protection, and the Brotherhood would never dare attack you in the capital.’

  ‘The capital is the worst place to go. We need to head for the nearest village, find a tavern to spend the night, and _disappear._ ’

  ‘You can't disappear, Jaime.’

  ‘I did the last time I was with you, didn't I?’

  ‘Actually, you didn't. That was the entire problem.’

  ‘Why are you so keen to get to King’s Landing anyway? You think it's safe there? You're mad.’

  Talking wasn't getting them anywhere, so Brienne decided to opt for something a little more drastic. She stopped walking, planting her feet firmly beneath her. Jaime continued a few more steps before he realised she was no longer beside him. When he turned to her, she deliberately folded her arms over her chest.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘By the Seven, you really are mad.’

  Maybe this was a little too drastic, but Brienne was determined to stick with her plan. ‘I'm not moving until I know where we're going.’

  ‘Anywhere.’ He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her away, unsuccessfully.

  ‘Anywhere will kill us,’ she snapped.

  ‘Keep your voice down.’ He glanced around at the trees, as if worried the Brotherhood would instantly come crashing through them. ‘If you're so worried about dying,' he said, dropping her arm and gesturing ahead of them, 'why don't you stop yelling and _start walking_?’

  ‘Because we need a destination, Jaime, and apparently you're determined not to pick one. Why won't you go back to your camp? It's the best option.’

  ‘It's not. We've headed too far in the wrong direction already. If we make for the camp now we’ll run right into the Brotherhood.’

  Brienne refrained from mentioning that this wouldn't have been an issue if they'd made the decision earlier. ‘If you don't come back, they'll continue to King’s Landing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if we change direction now we can catch up to them.’

  Jaime said nothing. Brienne could tell he had run out of reasonable excuses, but she knew that, for whatever untold reason, he didn't want to return to his men. She also knew that it was their best chance for survival.

  ‘Do you have a problem with that?’ she prompted.

  He sighed. ‘No.’                                                             

  ‘Good. You remember where the camp was?’

  It took them a minute to work out the direction before they set off, in silence once again. Brienne could feel Jaime seething beside her, but she had other concerns. Her little gambit had forced them to stop for too long. True, without a plan they would have been lost anyway, but the Brotherhood couldn't be far behind them now. And her tiredness was making its presence known again. She had run through her distractions, and with every step her body felt heavier.

  She stumbled, catching herself at the last second. Jaime’s head snapped up to her.

  ‘We need to stop,’ he said.

  ‘Don't be ridiculous.' She forced herself to take another step, her muscles quaking. 'There's no time.’

  ‘Brienne, you can barely stand. When did you last sleep?’

  Her mind flashed over the past few days. ‘I don't know,’ she admitted quietly.

  ‘We’re stopping,’ he said firmly. She tried to protest but he spoke over her. ‘You need to sleep. I'll keep watch.’

  She didn't want to agree, but she could still feel her muscles shaking. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground.

  ‘If you hear anything, wake me,’ she ordered.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I mean it, Jaime. _Anything._ You can't fight them all anymore.’

  ‘Thank you for the reminder,’ he said bitterly, lowering himself to the ground beside her. ‘Don't worry about me, Brienne. Just sleep.’

  She tried to think of a retort, but her mind was slowing. Her thoughts dissolved into nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

  ‘Brienne.’

  Her eyes flew open. Jaime was crouched over her, a finger to his lips. It was dark.

  ‘What's happening?’ she whispered.

  ‘I think they're here.’

  Brienne sat up slowly, reaching for Oathkeeper.

  ‘How long was I asleep?’ she asked.

  ‘A couple hours.’

  ‘ _Hours_?' She struggled to keep her voice low. 'You idiot, why didn't you wake me?’

  ‘You're no use exhausted.’

  ‘Neither of us is any _use_ if they've found us. It won't be four men this time, Jaime. We're dead.’

  ‘Now that's just unnecessarily morbid.’

  Brienne refused to reply. Much as she wanted to, arguing with Jaime was not going to help at the moment. Instead, she got to her feet and drew her sword. She looked around, saw nothing.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I heard voices, but I think they're still a fair way off. They aren't trying to be quiet.’

  ‘How many?’

  He paused. ‘Not four.’

  Brienne heart was hammering. She ran through their options. They could fight; they'd take out a few but they had no hope of winning. If they tried to run they'd be heard and mown down. She scanned the trees around her desperately. Trees. Maybe they had a third option.

  Swiftly, she sheathed Oathkeeper.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jaime hissed.

  She pointed to the closest tree. ‘We’re climbing.’

  He held up his stump. ‘That may be difficult.’

  She shrugged. ‘Climb or fight.’

  She hooked her fingers together, making a stirrup for him. For an awful moment she thought he might refuse, but then he placed his foot on her hands and stretched up, reaching for the branches above. She boosted him up and he swung himself into the tree, his stump crashing against the trunk. He swallowed a scream of agony. Brienne's breath caught. Jaime's face had lost all colour and he was shaking, his fingers clutched desperately around a branch. The two of them stayed there, frozen, for a few heartbeats. Then Jaime took a deep breath, steadied himself, and began to climb.

  Brienne shakily released her own breath. She looked around, but she couldn't see anyone. She tried to ignore the thought that maybe the Brotherhood could see her, that they were watching her climb straight into a trap.

  She waited for Jaime to move out of reach, then jumped, grabbing the lowest branch with both hands and hauling herself up.

  When she reached the top she found Jaime slumped against the trunk, his stump cradled against his chest. His eyes were half closed and his breathing shallow, but his hand gripped a branch tightly. She could see his muscles shaking with the effort of staying still.

  Brienne looked down through the branches. She could just make out the ground below. Were they hidden?

  ‘What if they look up?’ whispered Jaime.

  ‘Pray that they don't.’

  They perched on the boughs in silence. Brienne's muscles started to protest, but she didn't dare shift her weight. Any sound would be fatal. She could only imagine Jaime’s pain.

  The men passed beneath them. There was no attempt at stealth; they talked to each other, over each other. One was even singing. The Bear and the Maiden Fair. How appropriate.

 _Don't look up, don't look up,_ Brienne prayed. _Father above, don't let them look up. Mother above, don't let them find us._

  Perhaps the gods heard, or perhaps luck was on their side, for once. Not one of the two dozen men looked up. They remained hidden, unseen. Still, the procession passed slowly, and by the end Brienne's muscles were so taut she thought they would snap.

  Two stragglers brought up the rear. They passed directly under Brienne and Jaime’s tree, and she overheard some of their conversation.

  ‘… have found them by now.’

  ‘Probably got nicked by someone else. No way they got this far on their own.’

  The first man spat. ‘Bloody Kingslayer’s whore. Should've just killed them both on the spot.’

  Instinctively, Brienne’s eyes flicked to Jaime, but she forced them away just as fast. No way he hadn't heard it this time, even if he’d somehow missed it back at the camp. And if he'd heard both times…

  The Brotherhood had passed by, but neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on. How would they know when it was safe?

  ‘Brienne?’ Jamie finally whispered. ‘Why do they call you Kingslayer's whore?’

 _Why do you ask?_ she thought, infuriated. _Why make me say it?_ She would have to answer, though. Who knew what he might think otherwise?

  ‘When they first brought me to the camp I was injured badly, barely conscious. Apparently I called out for you in my sleep, and they thought – well…’ She could feel the blood rising to her cheeks.

  ‘You dreamed of me?’ She couldn't look at him, but she heard the smile in his voice.

  ‘I suppose I must have. I don't remember.’

  He didn't answer, and she certainly had no desire to continue the conversation. The Brotherhood's shouts had faded now, so Brienne judged it safe to move. The blood surged through her limbs as she freed them from their cramped positions. She stretched as much as she was able to within the tree branches, and settled into a fractionally more comfortable position. She thought about beginning the descent, but then she heard Jaime's laboured breathing as he struggled to adjust himself and decided to wait.

  Then she remembered she had her own question to ask.

  ‘Jaime?’ Ridiculous as she was, she still couldn't look at him, even as she addressed him. ‘Why don't you want to go back to King’s Landing?’

  He paused, long enough for her to look up, afraid she'd offended him. He seemed deep in thought, yet when he answered it was with only a single word.

  ‘Cersei.’

  Brienne waited for him to elaborate, but he was not forthcoming.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘I don't know. Well, not exactly. The last I heard of Cersei was a letter begging me to champion her at a trial for treason.’

  ‘You refused?’

  ‘I didn't answer.’

  Brienne was shocked. She'd always thought that Cersei was everything to Jaime. Clearly he could no longer fight as a champion, and it was absurd of her to ask it, but for him to completely ignore her…

  ‘Now,’ he continued, his voice strained, ‘now she's either dead, because of me, or she's alive and will never forgive me.’

  ‘And you think it would be better to never find out which?’ She immediately regretted her harsh tone.

  Jaime hung his head, and his next words were barely a whisper. Brienne found herself leaning close to him to catch them.

  ‘I'm afraid, Brienne. I'm afraid of finding her dead, of finding her alive. I'm afraid of what I've done, and what I haven't. I'm afraid of what she'll think of me, if she's alive.’

  ‘You're afraid she won't still love you?’

  She must be possessed by some devil. That was the only reasonable explanation for her asking such a question. Jaime was staring at her, his face slack with shock. _Say something,_ she screamed at herself. _Anything, just don't make him answer that._ But she couldn't. She wanted to know. He was still staring, their eyes locked together. She couldn't break away.

  ‘Yes,’ he finally answered. He dropped his gaze then, hid his face from her. ‘And I'm afraid she will.’

  Some part of Brienne’s mind was desperately trying to hold her back, to save her from the cliff she seemed so determined to through herself over. It wasn't strong enough.

  ‘Do you still love her?’

  ‘I don't know anymore. I tell myself I don't, and sometimes I'm convinced of it, and yet…’

  ‘And yet it's hard to let go.’

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered, as if in realisation. He laughed, quietly. ‘We’re quite the pair for falling in love with the wrong person, aren't we?’

  Renly. He was talking about Renly. Of course. Who had she meant? Renly. It must have been Renly.

  Who else?


	5. Chapter 5

  ‘Who goes there?’

  The sentry was young. He would probably have been called a boy if this was a time of peace. Still, he was good news. He meant they'd reached the camp.

  Jaime strode forwards. ‘Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and your captain.’

  The sentry squinted through the dusk. They were still in the shadow of the trees, true, but Jaime wasn't convinced of the logic of setting a sentry who had trouble seeing.

  ‘Who are you really?’

  Jaime sighed. Someday, he promised himself, he would announce himself and be believed. He stepped out from under the last of the trees and walked right up to the lad.

  ‘I'm the bloody Kingslayer, alright?’

  To his credit, the sentry looked horrified, and immediately started stuttering some mumbled apology. Jaime ignored him and entered the camp with Brienne following. She looked relieved. He supposed she felt safe now, surrounded by all these soldiers. Better odds if the Brotherhood found them. Their paths hadn't crossed since the tree incident, and Jaime doubted that they would again, but Brienne was difficult to pacify.

  They moved through the camp. Jaime was vaguely aware of his men, constantly turning to look at him, mumbling to each other, but he wasn't interested enough to pay them any attention.

  They'd set up his tent in the centre, but it clearly wasn't occupied. That was… nice. Completely impractical, but still. At the sight of the tent, his last dregs of energy drained away, and all he could think of was sleep. It was dusk anyway; his men couldn't expect anything of him tonight. He grabbed the nearest soldier.

  ‘We’re exhausted.’ He gestured at Brienne. ‘Find somewhere for her to sleep.’

  Then he headed for his tent, all other thoughts driven away. Just before he entered, he glanced back at Brienne. Her look was unreadable.

* * *

  He was awake. He didn't know the time, or how long he'd slept. He only knew that he was awake now, with no chance of succumbing again. Jaime lay there for a minute, trying to fight consciousness, but it was useless. He rolled out from beneath the blankets and stood, stretched, then pulled aside the tent flap and looked out. It was dark, the dead of night. The camp was quiet; only the sentries were awake. Well, and him.

  He stepped outside, deciding that he might as well do something with this time. He made his way through the silent camp, passing through the shadows of tents.

  The remains of a fire ahead caught his eye, the glowing embers all but out. A figure sat beside it, hunched towards what little heat was left. He stepped back a couple paces, and considered heading back. He had no wish to talk to his men, no desire to discuss where he had been or where they were going. Still, he stayed where he was, intrigued at the presence of another night wanderer. As he stood in the shadows, the figure shifted slightly, turning their face towards the firelight. It was Brienne.

  What was she doing? She should be asleep; he was sure she needed the rest more than he did.

  She looked up, straight at him, and he realised he had unconsciously moved closer.

  He sat down opposite her, watching the dim light dance across her face, wondering if she would speak to him. She didn’t.

  'Why aren't you asleep? he asked. 'You must be exhausted.’

  ‘I can't sleep here,’ she said quietly.

  ‘There are sentries all around, Brienne. We'd know if they were coming, and they wouldn't dare attack an entire camp. That is, if they even found us, which I think is unlikely.’

  She shook her head. ‘I'm not worried about the Brotherhood.’

  He frowned, caught off guard. She'd been constantly worrying about the Brotherhood since they escaped. He couldn’t even think what else could be troubling her.

  ‘Then what's wrong?’

  She dropped her head, wrapping her arms around her body as if she wanted to shrink.

  ‘It’s the camp. It reminds me…’ She paused. ‘It reminds me of Renly’s camp.’

  He could barely hear her; her head was buried in her arms. He had no idea what she meant. She'd never talked about Renly’s camp before.

  He stared into the dying embers, waiting for her to speak again. The minutes passed, and he began to wonder if she even realised she'd spoken out loud.

  ‘Brienne?’ he asked, cautiously. ‘What happened?’

  She raised her head, and her eyes caught his attention. They were distant. Their clear blue held flecks of sorrow and pain, but neither emotion was strong enough to combat the overwhelming sense of emptiness.

  Her eyes flicked back down, but Jaime couldn't look away. She didn't move; she seemed to have withdrawn into herself, rejecting the outside world. Eventually, she began to speak, but she remained still as a statue, and if they hadn't been alone, Jaime would have doubted that the words came from her.

  ‘The men were… amused by me. They devised a game, a bet. Any man could enter. All he had to do was add money to the pool. The winner would take it all.’

  ‘The winner?’ He had to ask.

  ‘The man who took my maidenhood.’

  Jaime couldn't speak. Anger overwhelmed him, hatred. These men. These fools, uncaring, unthinking… He imagined meeting them, plunging a sword into their unworthy hearts. He imagined he still had two hands. How dare they? He thought of all Brienne had had to face, all the men who'd mistreated her. Red Ronnet. Renly's men. Vargo Hoat’s. _Sapphires._

  He glanced at her. That emptiness was consuming her, stealing her spirit. He saw the camp through her eyes. All these men, sleeping. Threats.

  ‘Brienne?’ he whispered softly. ‘You could sleep in my tent.’

  Her head snapped up and for a second he was terrified she’d misunderstood. She was a great one for misunderstanding, Brienne.

  But her face softened; she looked relieved.

  ‘Thank you.’


	6. Chapter 6

  The Red Keep was ahead of them. They'd made it into the city unhindered, and Jaime wondered if that counted as fulfilling the promise he'd made himself back at the camp. But then, he hadn't actually needed to announce himself. It was a different matter when he was riding at the head of a column, in full armour, the golden hand strapped on. No one could doubt they saw the Kingslayer in those circumstances.

  They passed into the Keep’s shadow, and Jaime’s hand instinctively tightened on his reins. His horse tossed its head but slowed. Alongside him, Brienne slowed her own mount and placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Jaime?’ Her voice was low. ‘Are you alright?’

  He shook off her hand. ‘I’m fine.’

  He forced himself to relax and jabbed his heels in his horse's sides. Brienne was one thing, but he couldn’t allow his men to see his fear. After all, why should he have anything to be afraid of? Ser Jaime Lannister was returning triumphant to his home, his family.

  Which, of course, was the problem.

  Brienne fell behind as he forced his horse forwards. She had ridden at his side all the way back to King’s Landing. He was sure the men muttered about it, though they would never dare say anything to him directly. He had seen the looks on their faces, however hastily they tried to conceal them, that first morning when Brienne had emerged from his tent. He smiled to himself. Let them think what they liked. Since they were too mortified to bring it up, he had no occasion to set them right.

  The guards at the Red Keep’s doors let them pass without any problem. Despite his worries, the ease with which he was now being recognised gave Jaime a sense of satisfaction.

  As soon as they were within the gates, Jaime dismounted. The rest followed suit. He started issuing instructions: the horses were to be taken to the stables before any man could consider himself off duty, and someone must find rooms for Brienne of Tarth...

  He trailed off as a hush fell across his men. They all began bowing as he turned to locate the cause.

  She stood at the top of the steps, still as carved stone, disdain radiating down on all of them. How familiar. So she’d survived. Jaime tried to identify his feelings, but they escaped him.

  She turned her head towards him, a deliberate movement. The rest of her didn’t move an inch.

  ‘Sister,’ he called.

  ‘Ser Jaime,’ she replied coolly.

  He sensed Brienne at his back. She would be staring at him, he knew, willing him to communicate with her. _Don’t look_ , he told himself. _Don’t take the risk_.

  Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Cersei’s. Neither of them spoke, and Jaime felt they were playing some game to which he didn’t know the rules. Their silence extended over the courtyard; Cersei’s power held sway.

  ‘Walk with me, brother.’ Her voice sliced across the space.

  He started to mount the stairs, then turned to dismiss his men. As he was speaking, his eyes flashed to Brienne, but he dropped his gaze the instant it met hers. _Fool,_ he thought. _Pray that doesn’t cost you_.

  ‘Are you ready, brother?’ Cersei’s voice, though low, was sharp as a knife edge.

  ‘Of course.’ He forced himself to smile as he climbed the last few steps, in some vain hope that he could distract her. She set off quickly, her skirts rustling in time with her steps. She did not look to see if he was following.

  He caught up to her side, hurrying as she had intended. They walked in silence for several minutes; Jaime knew he would not be permitted to utter the first words.

  ‘You were surprised to see me alive.’ There was no preamble; in fact, it took Jaime a second to register that his sister was speaking, another to realise the import of her words. She must have taken his silence as assent, for she continued without waiting for a reply.

  ‘I kept telling myself that one of our letters must have been lost. Why else would there be no response? If it were yours, I would only have to be patient; after all, it would only herald your coming. But you didn’t come. And so I decided it must have been my letter that never reached you. Because you could never have refused me. And I believed that, Jaime. I forced myself to believe that. It kept me sane. But then you saw me, and I knew it was a lie. You expected me to be dead, dear brother. You wished it, I think.’

  ‘That is not true.’ It was a weak response and he knew it. Although it applied perfectly to her claim of remaining sane. He did not think that was possible for Cersei now, if it ever had been.

  ‘If you cared for my life, why refuse to save it?’

  ‘What did you think I could have done?’ Some part of him suggested a quieter tone. He should not risk angering her. Unfortunately, that part was far too small to control the rest.

  ‘You think I could champion you?’ he continued. ‘You really think so?’ He grabbed her with his good hand, forcing her to stop walking, and thrust the gold one in front of her face. She kept her eyes averted.

  ‘Look at it,’ he hissed. He shook her, past all reason now. Her eyes flicked quickly to the hand and then away. She shuddered.

  He pushed her away, disgusted. ‘It’s less use than the stump it conceals. Would you like to see that too?’

  ‘Stop it.’ Her voice hit him like a slap. He really should stop, or she’d be using her hands next.

  Cersei stepped close to him, shaking with rage. Her eyes flashed as they bored into him.

  ‘You think you can distract me with your – your _deformity_?’ Her lips twisted around the word. ‘I saw you with her. What possessed you to listen to her? Did you think I would just stand by? Or is that why you wished me dead? So that you and your little whore –’

 _No._ ‘Brienne wasn’t there when I received the letter. My decision was nothing to do with –’

  ‘Your _decision_? When you decided to let me die?’

  ‘It may have escaped your notice, sweet sister, but you are very much not dead. I knew you would have other champions. You have never been foolish enough to pin all of your hopes on one man.’

  ‘Don’t you dare pretend you knew my plans. You know nothing of me, _brother_.’

  ‘It would seem not.’

  He spun and walked away from her, fuming. _Fool, fool_ , he berated himself. _What did you think that would achieve?_

  ‘Jaime?’ she called from behind him. ‘Jaime, come back here!’

  Anger pushed him on, whilst that small part of him clawed to turn around. Perhaps he could still make peace with her. He had known Cersei long enough to know that enemies of hers did not last. But he also knew deep down that peace was no longer an option. They were enemies now, and he could not change that. All he could do was work out how best to fight her.


	7. Chapter 7

  Brienne raised her hand and knocked. He called out for her to enter, and she pushed the door of the Round Room open, uncertain of what she would find. She had barely been in her new rooms two minutes before a messenger practically knocked her door down, out of breath and claiming that the Lord Commander desired her presence immediately. She couldn’t think what could have happened in the short time they'd been apart which would be so important.

  Within, Jaime was pacing furiously, but he stopped as soon as he saw her, relief flooding over his face.

  ‘Brienne, thank the gods. You have to leave King’s Landing.’

  ‘What?’ Everything about his manner made it clear that he was deadly serious, but still Brienne couldn't quite stop the thought that this had to be a jest. They had only just arrived.

  ‘It’s not safe here,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not safe anywhere, Jaime, we discussed this. King’s Landing is the best option –’

  ‘For me, perhaps. Not for you. Please, Brienne. You’re in danger here.’

  ‘Where would I go?’

  ‘Anywhere. Gods, Brienne, just get out. Go back to Tarth.’

  She shook her head instinctively. ‘There’s nothing for me there.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you here.’

 _There’s you._ She bit back the words. She couldn’t say that, couldn’t admit it. Instead, she took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the situation. She couldn’t understand this change in Jaime. He was panicked, desperate for her to leave.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Cersei wants you dead.’

  Brienne frowned. She didn't know what she'd expected Jaime to say, but she could never have predicted this. It didn't make any sense. ‘She has no reason to.’

  ‘Yes, she does, and trust me when I tell you that the people Cersei wants dead don’t usually survive.’ The words were tumbling out of Jaime's mouth as if he had no control over them, and his face was flushed with an intensity bordering on hysteria. Still, Brienne couldn't believe that Cersei Lannister was a threat to her. The whole idea simply seemed ridiculous.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ she said, hoping the reminder might calm him.

  ‘This isn’t a battlefield, Brienne! She’s not going to come running at you with a sword. It won’t even be her, you’ll never know who –’

  ‘Jamie! Calm down. You can’t be sure she wants me dead. It doesn’t make any sense, she doesn’t know me –’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Brienne suddenly noticed that Jaime was shaking. He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. ‘Cersei thinks I’m in love with you.’

  ‘Are you?’

  The words flew out unconsciously, and even before her mouth closed Brienne willed them back. What possessed her? She stared at the floor, letting the silence envelop her. Foolish, foolish.

  He did not speak. Eventually, she could bear it no longer. She raised her head; she had just enough dignity to face him before she left.

  His face was pained, his eyes locked onto her. For a moment, she thought she saw a tear glinting in one.

  ‘Jaime?’ she whispered.

  ‘If I say yes, you’ll stay.’ The words were wrenched from inside him, as if they were tearing him apart. He closed his eyes and his head dropped to his chest.

  As if in a dream, Brienne found herself walking towards him. She could not say where the courage came from. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he lifted his head, surprised. Their faces were only a few inches apart.

  ‘Would you break my heart to keep me safe?’ she asked, strangely calm.

  He frowned, ever so slightly. ‘It would break your heart?’

  She could not stop herself from smiling. _Truly_ , she thought, _he is the fool_.

  And then his lips were on hers. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. She breathed him in, praying that she could stay here forever. Just let her stay with him, and all would be well.

  But she could only entertain these thoughts so long. She broke away, instinctively checking the room though she knew they were alone.

  ‘Not here,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not safe.’

  He reached out and caressed her face. She forced herself to step back from his touch, feeling as if she were ripping herself in two. She walked quickly to the door, knowing that if she didn’t move now she never would.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ she said, her hand on the handle.

  He smiled sadly. ‘I know.’

  ‘But I don’t plan on dying, either.’


	8. Chapter 8

  Brienne strode through the hallways, her heart pounding in her chest. Those last moments played over in her mind, again and again; the touch of his lips, the weight of his body against hers, the feeling of bliss as they melded together, the feeling, for the first time in her life, of safety.

  Cersei Lannister startled these thoughts from her mind, rounding the corner of the steps Brienne had just begun to descend. Brienne glanced around for some means of escape, but then their eyes met and she knew she was trapped. Cersei smiled up at her, a thin, cold smile, and Brienne was gripped by a chilling certainty that Cersei knew exactly what she had been thinking. Her breath caught in her throat but she forced herself to drop her gaze, lowering her head deferentially.

  ‘Your Grace.’ She smiled, fighting to appear calm. She prayed that she would not give herself away.

  ‘Brienne, isn’t it?’ Cersei’s voice was unreadable. The words could have carried a threat, or a greeting, or perhaps mere apathy. The ambiguity only heightened Cersei's power. There was nothing more unnerving than trying to distinguish between threats real and imagined.

_Cersei wants you dead._ Jaime’s words flashed through her mind. The threat must be there, but she could not let Cersei know she suspected it.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she answered, hoping her fraction of a pause had not betrayed her.

  ‘You arrived with my brother, did you not?’

_Careful._ Not trusting her voice, Brienne simply nodded. She suddenly realised that no one had passed them on the stairwell. Unusual in the Red Keep. She struggled to keep her fear from showing on her face as she realised just how much power Cersei wielded.  

  ‘I suppose I should thank you for protecting him.’ Brienne blinked. Her thoughts had thrown her off guard, and she was unable to process the words. Cersei smiled at her confusion. ‘You serve as one of his knights, I presume?’

  ‘I…’ Brienne’s mind scrambled desperately for an appropriate way to describe her relationship to Jaime. Cersei’s eyes narrowed slightly. The tight space of the staircase seemed to be closing in around Brienne. Cersei was all she could see. ‘Yes, Your Grace, I suppose you could say that.’

  Cersei laughed, and Brienne’s flesh crawled at the sound. She leaned back slightly, trying to escape Cersei's overwhelming presence.

  ‘An interesting choice for a woman.’ Cersei smiled at her, almost benignly. ‘Some might say foolish. It's so… dangerous.’

  Brienne’s hand flew to her sword hilt before she could stop it, before she could consider just how idiotic the move was. Cersei’s eyes flashed down to Oathkeeper, then back to Brienne. The two women held each other’s gaze, frozen. Cersei leaned closer and, unbidden, Brienne’s hand tightened around the hilt.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Brienne?’ Cersei whispered. There was no mistaking her tone now.

  ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’ Brienne attempted a smile, a weak mockery of Cersei’s own tactics. ‘Are you?’

  Immediately the spell was broken. Cersei leaned back with an airy laugh.

  ‘Of course not, Brienne. Why on earth would you think that?’

  Without giving her a chance to reply, Cersei swept past her. Brienne's whole body was shaking. It took her a moment to remember that she should move, and once she did, it took all of her concentration to keep from running.

  As she continued to her rooms her heart was pounding once more, this time in terror. Every person she passed made her pulse spike, Jaime’s words repeating in her head like a mantra: _you'll never know who._ She hadn't truly believed him before, but now she was certain, and now she was afraid. She wondered if she should leave the capital. But then she thought of Jaime, remembered the joy she felt with him, and she felt safe. The thought of him calmed her. The strangers she passed were no longer lurking assassins, merely insignificant faces, faces that were not his. She recognised that this feeling was illogical, but the knowledge did nothing to lessen it. She knew she couldn't leave, couldn't give up the chance of being with him, however short-lived it might be.

* * *

  The door creaked as it inched open. Brienne woke instantly. As quietly as she could, she reached for the knife she’d hidden under the mattress earlier and rolled to face the door, clutching the blade tight against her chest and straining her eyes against the darkness.

  She lay there, silent, every muscle tensed, listening for any sound, any warning.

  A whisper broke through the darkness. ‘Brienne?’

  The tension drained out of her so fast her muscles trembled. She sat up, retuning the knife to its hiding place with shaking hands.

  ‘Jaime, what are you doing here?’

  He was in front of her, his hand on her check. She dropped her head into him, kissing his palm.

  ‘I had to see you,’ he whispered. ‘I've been so afraid. I had to know…’

  ‘It's alright.’ She reached out her arms and folded him into her. ‘I'm fine, I'm safe.’ An image of Cersei’s face, that chilling smile, rose in her mind, but she pushed it away. She wouldn't tell him. Couldn't tell him.

  He relaxed into her, and suddenly she was highly aware of the feel of his body, every inch of it in contact with hers. She leaned back, slowly, laying down on the bed and pulling him with her.

  And then they were kissing. Everything else flew from her mind. There was only him, his limbs twining with hers, his breath filling her body. He was her whole world.

* * *

  He woke before her. For a moment he just lay there, his limbs tangled with hers, not wanting to move, not wanting to disturb her even slightly. Brienne's face was turned towards him, and she smiled in her sleep. The sight of her face filled him with joy, and he relaxed into the bed, feeling peaceful for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time ever.

  The next time he looked over her eyes were open. She reached out to caress his face, then leaned in and kissed him softly, drawing back to rest her forehead against his.

  They lay there, face to face, breathing together. In those moments, time stopped for Jaime, and he wished it would never start again. But time came back to them, slowly, pushing its way between them. The intruder grew steadily more insistent, until at last it forced Jaime to roll away from her and climb from the bed.

  ‘I have to go,’ he whispered, as if the quietness of the words would negate their meaning.

  Brienne clambered across the bed to stand before him. Her arms wrapped around him and she dropped her head, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

  After a second, she sighed, then stepped back, nodding. She began to dress. Jaime reached for his clothes, the ones he had worn last night. He prayed none of the castle’s eyes would notice. He prayed his Kingsguard brothers weren't aware of his absence, or at least wouldn’t have the guts to question him about it. Silently he berated himself for the risk he had taken last night. It was utter stupidity – how could he hope for this to go unnoticed? But when he met Brienne’s gaze, he couldn’t regret the choice. Love echoed between them, stronger than himself, and in that moment his only regret was the time it had taken him to recognise it.

  ‘I’ll leave first,’ Brienne said. ‘That way, if anyone’s watching the room, they should follow me.’

  He nodded, ashamed that she had been thinking how to keep them safe whilst he could only list the risks in despair. He caught her as she crossed to the door, pulled her close for one last kiss.

  ‘Be careful,’ he whispered.

  ‘Of course.’ She smiled at him, pecked him gently on the lips, and slipped out. He stood uncertainly in the empty room, trying to calculate how long he should wait. When he thought it must be safe, he forced himself to wait a minute longer, then crept to the door.

  He pushed it open inch by inch, his face to the opening, trying to ascertain whether anyone waited outside. It was impossible to tell. He held his position for a moment, straining his senses in hopes of detecting any watchers, then gave it up as hopeless, pushing the door open and slipping out in one motion. He let it fall shut behind him as he strode down the empty corridor, thanking the gods for keeping Cersei’s spies away.


	9. Chapter 9

  The sounds of metal on metal echoed through the air. Jaime sat above the fighters, watching the daily practise of Kingsguard, knights and squires. And Brienne. As her opponent crashed to the ground with Oathkeeper’s point balanced on his chest, Jaime smiled to himself. She had beaten every man who had challenged her over the past few days, and there had been many to beat. No man could refuse to fight her without being labelled craven, afraid to fight a woman. Of course, losing to that same woman didn’t do much for their honour either.

  Brienne caught Jaime's eye and he bit his lip to hold back the laughter. The defeated man crept back to his friends, their laughter ringing out across the grounds. Angrily, he challenged any of them to face her; of course, one immediately accepted, swaggering over to Brienne. And the dance began again.

  Jaime didn’t hold high hopes for this contestant; watching Brienne’s matches he’d begun to discern a pattern. The men with the most bravado were the quickest to fail. Brienne knew how to fight men, knew how to take advantage of the way they viewed her. Only the ones who would accept her as a serious threat stood any chance, although she bested them as well: it simply took a little longer.

  The man’s sword arced away from him, glinting in the morning light, and Jaime let his gaze drift over the other fighters. He had witnessed enough of Brienne’s bouts to know how this man would react now, and it was of no interest to him.

  His eyes settled on two Kingsguard locked in combat, and he wondered how long he would be able to continue merely watching from the side-lines. The first day he had claimed exhaustion after his journey, the second he had blustered his way through with a reminder of his superior rank. The third day they had not asked. But his men were not stupid, and eventually reason would trump fear. They could not have a Lord Commander who would not train: how else would he ensure he remained fit to guard his King? Of course, he was not fit, and training was the surest way to reveal that. He would have to think of some feasible lie to keep him away from the bouts, long-term – his men could never be allowed to find out just how pathetic Ser Jaime Lannister had become.

  He pushed the matter from his mind. His own issues were little more than distractions at present. As the days passed, his paranoia for Brienne grew stronger, and the fact that Cersei appeared utterly disinterested in the pair of them fuelled his fear rather than weakening it. His desire for her safety and his desire for her presence threatened to tear him in two, and his endless internal debates could reach no useful resolution.

  He told himself there was no excuse for keeping her in King’s Landing. He told himself it was no question of his _keeping_ her – she had made the decision, and it was not for him to dictate her choices. He told himself she did not understand the danger, that it was his duty to make her understand, and make her leave – to protect her. He told himself he would die if she left. He told himself she would die if she stayed.

  He knew he would never forgive himself if she died here. But he also knew that he might never see her again if she left, and he could not live with that. He was caught.

* * *

  He glimpsed her ahead of him, and quickened his pace to catch up to her, winding in and out of the throngs of people that populated the Red Keep. How many of them were spies, he wondered? And how many of those were Cersei’s?

  He hated the capital.

  He managed to draw up beside her. ‘Brienne.’

  She smiled, politely. ‘Ser Jaime.’

  Meaningless words passed between them, innocent enough for any passing ears. The words were not important; they communicated simply by being near each other. This was how they lived now: in secret conversations held in plain view, in stolen moments kept hidden from all.

  A lady’s maid tried to squeeze past them through a gap slightly too small, knocking into Brienne in the process. Instinctively, he put out his hand to steady her. He withdrew it as soon as it touched her skin, panicked. Could anyone have seen? He glanced around, trying to read the faces of those nearest.

  ‘Jaime.’ Her tone shocked him. He turned, worried, and saw her mask had dropped away. Her eyes were fixed on his face, desperately, as if trying to commit it to memory.

  ‘No.’

  She had a hand pressed to her side. He pulled it away. It shone red.

  ‘No!’

  He spun around, searching for the maid. She had vanished, taken by the crowd. He stepped forward, ready to give chase, a murderous rage descending upon him.

  Brienne collapsed at his side.

  He spun back to her, catching her with his good arm. He froze, a part of him still screaming for that woman’s blood.

 _Let her go_ , he thought. _She’s just a hand._

_Cersei’s hand._

  Brienne’s breaths had turned to gasps, her strength slipping away. Jaime bent down and cradled her in his arms, praying that the maimed one would hold. He pushed through the swarm of people, shouldering them all aside. Behind him he heard the confusion, the realisations. They were all spies. They all knew. He didn’t care.

  He burst through the doors into the Round Room. Three Kingsguard stood there. One began to stammer a question.

  ‘Out!’ he yelled.

  He didn’t stop to see if they’d obeyed him. He crashed through the doors into his chamber, laid Brienne on the bed as gently as he could.

  He bent to inspect the wound. It seemed tiny, a cut from the slenderest of daggers. He didn’t understand. Brienne was struggling for breath, her body shaking, convulsing. But the wound wasn’t deep. This shouldn’t be happening.

  He laid his hand on her side. The flesh burned.

_Poison._

  Of course. Cersei wouldn’t leave anything to chance.

  Jaime’s mind whirled desperately, clawing for options. A Maester could treat the poison. They would be Cersei’s. Maybe he could get Brienne out of the castle, find someone in the town –

  ‘Jaime.’ Her hand reached out, flailing. He took it in his and kneeled beside her, gazing into her eyes. Her grip crushed his fingers, see, she couldn’t be dying, she still had such strength –

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ she whispered, the words divided by gasps for breath. He shook his head franticly.

  ‘It’s alright.’ The corners of her mouth twitched in an attempt to smile. ‘It’s not your fault, Jaime.’

  ‘I should have made you leave.’

  ‘It was my choice to stay.’ Her free hand brushed the side of his face, shaking. ‘I love you, Jaime.’

  ‘I – ’ He choked on the words. His vision was blurring. He blinked furiously – he had to see her. ‘I love you.’

  Her hand fell back to the bed and her eyes rolled. Her mouth opened, lips trembling, but no words came.

  The pressure on his hand was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

  The sobs cut through Jaime's body, taking over him for a long time. He could not say how long. When at last he regained himself, he saw her lying there, undeniably gone. He had never understood the emptiness of death, never known just why bodies dead were so different from bodies living.

  Gently, he slid his hand from hers and closed her eyes.

  The desire for vengeance settled over him like a cloak, nothing like his earlier rage. This was cold, considered. Focused.

_Cersei._

  He rose, and as he turned towards the door a golden glimmer caught his eye. His hand. He strapped it on, following some strange instinct, then left.

  This time the Round Room was empty. He passed through the corridors, unaffected by the people around him. He didn’t even hear them.

  He didn't slow until he saw the two guards posted outside the door. They were Lannister men. Jaime smiled to himself.

  The guards stood to attention as he walked up to them.

  'What do you want, ser?' asked one.

  'I'd like to see my sister.' Jaime smiled at them, forcing himself to relax, to appear light-hearted.

  He saw the guards look to each other in confusion. Had Cersei given a specific warning against him? Jaime tried to weigh her paranoia against her distaste for showing fear.

  He cocked his head, affecting an air of bemusement. 'Is there some reason I _can't_ see my sister?'

  They hesitated a moment more before one replied. 'Of course not, ser. Our apologies.'

  The two men moved aside to let Jaime approach the door. He supposed Cersei had told them not to let anyone enter, but with no specifics, what were they to do when one Lannister's request conflicted with the other's?

  Jaime paused with his hand resting on the door handle. These guards may be willing to let him enter, but how long would it take before they dragged him out again? He had no intention of being interrupted.

  He removed his hand and turned back to the men, arranging his features in an expression he hoped would be read as bashful.

  He cleared his throat. 'I don't suppose you'd be willing to give us some privacy? I have something of a rather, ah, _sensitive_ nature to discuss with my sister.'

  The guards struggled to conceal their smirks. Of course they'd heard the stories; Jaime had been counting on that.

  'Of course, ser,' said the one who was having a better time keeping his face under control. He kept his laugh well contained, but Jaime could hear the shadow of it in his words all the same. Both men bowed to him and retreated down the corridor. Jaime watched them go, supposing that they were trying to get out of earshot so they could give their mirth full rein.

  That suited his purpose perfectly.

  Jaime stood outside the heavy wooden doors, and the easy manner he'd adopted for the guards fell away as the vengeful cold spread through him once again. He shoved through the doors and they screeched on their hinges, announcing his presence. He liked that.

  Cersei looked up at his entrance, her face falling in shock when she saw him. ‘Jaime! You can’t – ’

  ‘You killed her.’ There was no anger in his voice. This wasn’t an accusation. It was just… true.

  ‘I don’t kn–’

  ‘Don’t.’

  He walked towards her, grabbed her arm, and kept walking. They smashed into the wall and Cersei started to yell, calling on her guards. He leaned closer.

  'There's no one coming,' he whispered in her ear.

  That panicked her. She struggled, but it was no use. He had her pinned, trapped.

  He held the golden hand up in her face, forced her to look at it.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful, sweet sister?’

  ‘Jaime, please.’ Now she was begging. Now she was scared. Good.

  ‘And I was wrong before,’ he continued. ‘It isn’t as useless as the stump. Not completely.’

  He could feel his sister’s body tremble against his as he pressed the golden hand to her throat. He leant into it, forcing all of his weight onto her slender neck.

  Cersei gagged. Her eyes bulged and she began to squirm, kicking and clawing at him, shoving and twisting, trying anything to break free.

  He was immovable. His whole body was made of gold, impervious to her blows. He did not even feel them.

  He did not look away from her face the entire time. He wanted her to see his wrath, to know how much he hated her. He wanted that to be the last thing she ever knew.

  He stared into her eyes until the focus left them, until she drifted away. Her arms continued to assail him, but he knew that it was not Cersei. The body will fight on long after it has a mind to save.

  But eventually the blows weakened, becoming mere twitches, and then they too faded into nothing. She was blank, gone, just like Brienne. Jaime dropped his arm and the body slid down the wall, crumpling beneath him.

  Suddenly a wave of weakness overcame him. He stumbled to his knees, overlooking the corpse. He had no will to get up again. Dimly, he thought that eventually the guards would return, that the room couldn’t remain empty forever. The body would have to be found. He supposed they would find him too.

  The thought failed to prompt a reaction. He was spent. He was a swordsman without a hand, a Lannister without a family, a lover without a love. He felt closer to the corpse beneath him than the crowds beyond the walls.

_Let them come_ , he thought. _Let them find me. I’m dead already._ It was true. Life was not the movement of blood through veins or air through lungs, but purpose, and he had none left. He had nothing to keep him in the world.

  So let them come.


End file.
